Ian flies the world

A day spent in Paris is more fun than a week

24 January 1987 British Airways 968 Birmingham to Paris CDG,
Business
24 January 1987 British Airways 315 Paris CDG to London
Heathrow, Business

The company I worked for had recently had an incentive
scheme, which depended on various qualities which might be found
in the work we did. Payment took the form of gift vouchers,
redeemable at various stores. One of these had a travel agent
attached to it, and our new found desire for travel, added to a
large number of vouchers meant that travel I had previously only
dreamed about now became possible. Our department hadn't done
any better than any of the others, but we did have a manager who
could work the system rather nicely.

So it was that, after careful study of the timetable, I
reserved two Business Class tickets for the Saturday, routing
back to London Heathrow rather than Birmingham because the last
flight to Birmingham would not have given us long in Paris at
all. However, return was early enough to give us a chance to
return by rail to Birmingham at a reasonable hour.

It is not for me to mention the name of the travel agent,
who have since ceased trading. On arrival at Birmingham airport,
we were shocked to find that the first flight coupon was not
present in my ticket. An enquiry on the computer system showed
that the agent admitted the mistake, and so the ticket was
reissued. I pity the first person to whom this ever happened:
the computer software probably couldn't have handled it then,
and they would have been obliged either to pay again, or to
cancel.

Checking in is much more straightforward if travel is in
Business Class with only hand baggage, and so it all ran very
smoothly once I had a ticket. After this, a short wait before we
boarded the BAC 1-11 and were issued with a sumptuous breakfast
with champagne. An hour later and the six passengers in the
Business Class cabin got off the aeroplane and cleared
immigration and customs in Paris. After that, a short train ride
took us into town, and we saw, inter alia, the Seine, Notre
Dame, Champs-Elysees, Arc de Triomphe, Tour Eiffel, Opera House.
All this in one day, a snowy day at that.

By evening, it was the end of a tiring day, and time to
return to CDG. Again, there was no problem at check-in. One
thing I had not realised was that the aeroplane back to London
was to be a Tristar. This large airliner was probably well-
suited to the busy route during the week, but on a Saturday
night not many people are travelling back to London. So we sat
near the back of a very large Club cabin, speculating how the
cabin staff ever manage to feed the people if it is full. Club
means a fairly large meal, but on this route very little time to
consume it. Fortunately, we both eat fast. The food was all
good.

On landing, all went smoothly. From Terminal 4 to
underground, from underground to Euston, arriving back home
before midnight. All in all, a very rewarding day, and one in
which I suspect we had done more than we might have done if we
had been away for a long weekend. The travel bug had bitten
hard, and we would never be the same again.

22 March 1987 British Airways 970 Birmingham to Paris CDG,
Business
26 March 1987 Air France 962 Paris CDG to Birmingham,
Business

My seniority in the company was obviously improving, for
now they had seen fit to send me to a technical course in Paris.
Part of the reason for this, it must be admitted, was that the
man who had been on an earlier similar course had left the
company before he was able to teach anybody what he had learned.
Nevertheless, it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and
so it was that I got the good fortune this time. The course
would start early on Monday morning, so I had to travel on
Sunday evening. This was perfectly acceptable to me, although I
do realise that some members of my department would have
refused.

Checking in was much the same as it had been when I had
travelled the same route just a couple of months earlier. The
price of the ticket was the same too, though the French
Government had introduced a security charge of FRF 3.00 in the
meantime. Still, I wasn't paying it.

Travelling in Business Class on this route on Sunday
evening was not particularly special, except that I was given
better food than the economy passengers. There was no special
club cabin on this flight, as I remember, just a curtain pulled
across. The fun started after we arrived in Paris.

Queues at immigration were quite amazing, considering that
I was only coming over from the UK, but this could have been
connected with the rugby international that had taken place the
previous day. I had often wondered whether the French really
sing Alouette, and this was my opportunity to find that they do.
However, as the song progressed, the parts of the body named in
the verses became words with which I was less and less familiar,
until by the third verse I could only guess, probably at least
nearly correctly, what they were singing. However, I'm sure the
average alouette doesn't have feathers in all those places.

After a taxi ride to the hotel, it was a quiet night,
which I found quite relaxing.

The course I attended proved most interesting and
fulfilling, and would also result in further travel, which was
obviously just what I wanted. It was all I could have hoped for:
an interesting course, containing worthwhile and practical
material which I would be able to use both professionally and
personally.

The people on the course were friendly, and we went out
most evenings during the week. On the night we didn't all go out
together, I went to La Mariacha, a Mexican restaurant just off
the Champs-Elysees. It offers excellent Mexican cuisine and live
music. The drawback is that it is very expensive, but
worthwhile. If you go there, choose wine with care and don't get
ripped off. La Mariacha doesn't open till 9 pm.

At the end of the course, we shared a taxi back to the
airport. I found it most embarrassing when I got in the wrong
side of the taxi, and found myself confronted by a steering
wheel. The whole assembled company found this most amusing. Why
don't the rest of the world drive on the correct side of the
road? If it's good enough for the Japanese, the British, the
Australians, the Fijians, the New Zealanders, why not for the
French?

The staff canteen at my company's offices in Paris offered an unusual scheme
of payment. All attendees of courses were issued with a fixed value pass,
which one could use during the week. On the last day, I still had a
fair value left, so rather than waste it, I bought a half-bottle of wine.
This, it struck me later, might not have been a good move, because it
took me over the duty-free limit available. It seemed a shame not to put it
to good use, so I drank it in the departure lounge at the airport.
Combined with the lunch we had consumed earlier and the copious amounts of
alcohol furnished on the flight, combined with the fact that I had not
been speaking with native English speakers for nearly a week, my style on
arriving back in Birmingham was not one that my fiancee saw in an entirely
postive light.